Recollections
by My Only Carriage
Summary: LL. One part. Post-5.02. "You've come to hook up?"


She ran down the stairs, straight down and then to her right, two at a time at first until she landed on her right heel, hard. An ouch and an obscene hand gesture followed, and she slowed down to merely a gallop. The lights were off in the living room, but the small foyer was illuminated enough so she could see his form, or a haphazard blob, depending on your perspective. Hers was such that she knew the blob, even if it was adorned in a black t-shirt hugging the curves below and not the familiar checkered pattern. It was blue this afternoon.

Ordinarily, she'd at least afford herself a quick glance in the mirror before greeting a man, or her man as the case may be.

_'I'd like him even if his eyes weren't blue and his smile mine alone and his forearm muscles ripping through gently, lengthwise.'_

"Hi." She said with her most brilliant smile when she opened the door and found a matching grin on the other side.

"Hello to you too." He replied, a little more hesitantly, realizing he's a fish out of water or a wingless bird in a manner of speaking.

She pursed her lips, crinkled her forehead thoughtfully.

"I thought it was black."

"What was?"

"Your shirt."

"Ah."

"Hmmm, charcoal, wouldn't you say?"

Luke chuckled at how _Lorelai_ Lorelai still was, and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, shrugging towards her hallway.

"Could I come in?"

"You've come to hook up?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Lorelai..."

"Open Sesame?" She faked a Middle Eastern accent and he stood up on his toes, looking behind her.

"I don't see bags of gold."

"Or carpets of silk." She supplied as if they'd carried out this same conversation on a daily basis.

"What's an Ali Baba to do?" He wondered jokingly, and she laughed with him, then slipped deftly past to shut the door.

"Stay anyway." Lorelai suggested lightly, but there was a seriousness in her tone and he picked up on it, although he knew it was not yet time to dwell on her words or hold her captive to them. Maybe tomorrow, or next week. When he's kissed her at least eight more times, bringing the total to a respectable ten. Then they'd feel _real._

"You drive a hard bargain."

"Poverty builds character." She added sagely, bolstering her argument.

"Or is that what poor people tell themselves to make themselves feel better?" He responded with a smile and her eyes opened up wide, in mock surprise.

"You mean to tell me it's all been a fantasy?"

That's when he really looked at her for a long moment, and even though he knew he probably resembled his awkward President with those deaf silences and an inability to articulate anything substantial, he could not take his eyes off the gentle curls in her hair, how they framed her oval face and the way the corners of her eyes lifted into a tiny smile. His hands dug their ways out of the pockets they'd taken residence in and found their way to her waist. He pulled her closer, although he didn't have to, not really anyway, she was gravitating towards him on her own.

"I don't think so." He finally said, with good conviction and angled his face so that when their lips met, it was in a slant. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting her chest up against his. He sighed happily into her mouth. How could he not?

The second kiss that night followed on the heels of the first, and by the third, his hands had found their way to her butt and she was grinning madly against his lips. They stumbled into the living room, she backwards and he forward, legs mingling until the back of her knees met the couch and she pulled him down to sit next to her.

"Are you for real?" She asked him, but this made him shy, that a woman like her would think he's better than a fantasy, even if he'd secretly hoped so in his moments of weakness. Usually she she'd break up with her latest boyfriend and that little bit of hope stirred at the bottom of Pandora's box, which was really a jug, except that got lost in translation. He too knew things like these, things people who read books know, people like Lorelai. If she'd only ever let him tell her stories, he would have.

"Rory's in the diner." He told her, too lost in his thoughts to come up with something that scratched deeper beneath the surface.

"With Lane?"

"Yeah. I left them with a fresh batch of double chocolate brownies and a bowl of whipped cream. Not the crap out of a can, but the kind you make yourself."

"For shame!"

He grimaced. "That I'm bribing you child with a high dose of refined sugar so I could have a minute with you?"

"That you didn't think to bring me any!"

He leaned forward, alternately looking at her sideways and down at his shoes.

"I kind of thought that it was too early in the relationship to bring out whipped cream."

She opened her mouth slightly, their eyes met, and they both laughed, like old friends difusing tension, and building it at the same time. There was a small pillow jabbing her in the back and she threw it at his chest, hard.

"If I only knew you were this kinky..."

"You'd have what?" He asked, genuinely wondering.

"I don't know." She answered him, shrugging her shoulders. "Climbed on the roof with you?"

Luke's face betrayed his confusion, but not an extreme case of it. This was Lorelai, after all, she was inherently strange.

"When?"

"You changed two shingles on my roof."

"Forever ago." He pointed out.

She got up, off the couch and paced away from him, closer to the TV, hands on her hips, and continued the retelling of her memory.

"You were lying on your stomach, on my roof and I came outside and I asked you what the name of that bodyshop mechanic was. The fat guy and you knew and Rory didn't know, but you did and you knew it was the fat guy."

He shook his head. "Forever ago." He repeated and she figured he didn't know exactly what occasion she was referring to.

"It was when Rachel was here."

"Oh." He said knowingly, remembering his avoidance techniques well.

"I'm sorry." Lorelai interjected as soon as she saw a look cross his face. It wasn't anger or sadness but she still regretted having brought it up.

_'Stupid! What the hell is the matter with me?'_

"No, it's fine."

"I shouldn't have."

He waved her off dismissively with one hand. Luke wasn't an Oxford scholar, but he was smart enough to know to let sleeping dogs lie where they may.

"Sure?" She asked him anyway, wanting to be certain she'd get her fourth kiss tonight and with nobody's ghost, holy or not, lingering between them.

"Absolutely." He assured her, offering an easy smile that betrayed just how much he wasn't bothered by the topic.

"Listen, tomorrow-" He started, only to be interrupted by Rory coming home, surprised to find him here, but not utterly shocked.

"Rory, hi."

"Hi Mom, Luke. I brought some brownies back." She said, lifting up a paper bag, and Lorelai nodded thankfully.

"I should get going anyway, Lane's due for a break."

Lorelai stood across from him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Right. Well, let me walk you out." She offered as Rory retreated into the kitchen, offering them the complete privacy of the front porch.

"So..."

"Come in for breakfast. I'll talk to you then?"

"I will."

He wasn't sure what the etiquette dictated in such circumstances, so he leaned over to kiss her cheek, but she would have none of it, pulling his face in another direction and he found out that coffee wasn't always as bitter as he thought.

"Thank you." She said to him, for nothing in particular and he just accepted it, patting her arm a bit before climbing down the front steps.

"By the way," He offered, turning back for a moment, "I remember the time on the roof. Your hair was straight, like completely sleek straight and Rory was inside and you were having dry cereal and later you told me I should maybe lower my expectations."

Her eyes bugged out in surprise at his attention to detail.

"Wow, you actually listen to me?" She asked in wonder.

"I didn't that time." He told her pointedly until she understood.


End file.
